


Through It All

by hellskitchensmurdock



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Episode: s02e16 Fear and Loathing, Episode: s02e17 Distress, Episode: s02e18 Jones, Episode: s02e19 Ashes and Dust, Episode: s02e20 Honor Among Thieves, Hurt, Post-Episode: s02e15 Revelations, Post-Episode: s02e20 Honor Among Thieves, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Spencer Reid Whump, TW:, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27517288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellskitchensmurdock/pseuds/hellskitchensmurdock
Summary: "He shoots Charles, but he watches Tobias die."Spencer Reid; from Revelations to Honor Among Thieves.
Relationships: Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Past Spencer Reid/Ethan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	Through It All

**Author's Note:**

> Hello !! I have not written in AGES but now that im finished with school im starting to get back into it! And, this is my first criminal minds fic wow we love that
> 
> Thank you to my lovely LOVELY friend Nik, who's @princessoftheworlds on here for editing this!
> 
> Also, there is drug use in this so if that's something that makes you uncomfortable in anyway, please don't read this
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic :)

He shoots Charles, but he watches Tobias die. He watches the light, the life, fade from his eyes as he wonders if he’ll see his mother again.

It’s his eyes that are seared into his memory.

He spends two days in hospital, and the entire time he stares at the blank wall in front of him. Every time he closes his eyes he sees Tobias’. Blank, lifeless, staring up at him.

He manages to get cleared for active field duty. Hotch isn’t happy about it, but he hears the psychologist explaining something to him. He can’t make out the words, but whatever was said changed his mind, if only a little.

He also manages to sneak the vials of Dilaudid he stole from Tobias’ body home. 

He couldn’t find it in himself to care that he had stolen drugs off a dead body; he was just glad he had the one thing he knew could take away his pain.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He doesn’t wake until morning.

-

He can’t look at the crime scene photos, not without remembering being dragged by his ankles. 

He remembers being scared; he remembers thinking  _ this is it _ .

He realises this is how they felt, the girls in the photos. The dead girls whose glassy, lifeless eyes stare up to the sky.

Just like Tobias’.

He always knew, as a profiler, what it was like. But now he really knows, he really understands the gut punching realisation of  _ I’m not getting out of this alive. _

And they didn’t. They were in the dirt, dead, an unknown souvenir being all that's left of them.

They were innocent. They didn’t deserve this. They deserved to get out alive, but they didn’t.

So why did he?

-

He doesn’t get a chance the first time he tries: Hotch is looking for the coroner’s report.

When he rushes out, he can still feel the weight of the two bottles in his hand, and he’s sure everyone can hear the clink of them in his bag.

If they do, they don’t mention it.

He does it the second time. Not enough to knock him out but enough to dull the pain radiating from his foot, his chest, his heart, enough to stop his hands from shaking. That is the aim.

_ It’s not enough. _

He leans against the countertop, avoiding his own eyes in the mirror, until he realises someone’s knocking on the bathroom door.

It’s Gideon, telling him that Hotch and Morgan have gone to take down the unsub.

_ I need more. _

He thinks about the young girl they were saving, and he hopes she makes it out alive. She didn’t deserve to die. 

Not like he did.

_ I just want to forget. _

He tells himself he’ll wait until he gets home. He makes it forty minutes into the flight back before excusing himself to the bathroom.

-

Hotch lets him go home early. They had a paperwork day, and Spencer, as always, had long since finished his. He opted for staring into space, reciting the Valentine’s poems his mother used to read under his breath. It’s a good distraction.

_ Oh, if she knew why. _

“Go home, Reid,” Hotch orders at midday, just as the others have walked out to get lunch.

He had declined their invitation to join.

“Rest up and come back tomorrow.”

He does. He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder and heads straight for the elevator, whispering _ thanks Hotch _ .

He’s so focused on fighting through the nausea that he misses the concerned glance Hotch and Gideon share across the office.

He spends the rest of the day on his couch, floating as he stares at nothing through blurred eyes.

-

It’s wearing off quicker, and he needs more. He’s developing a tolerance, and he doesn’t care. He just wants more, and he doesn’t want much else anymore. He can’t get any, and it frustrates him.

He doesn’t want to be in pain. 

_ No one does. But people are, because of you. You deserve this pain. _

_ I don’t care. _

He takes it out on Emily, because she’s the only person he can take it out on. He’s known the other too long, and Hotch and Gideon are his bosses.

_ “What’s the matter with you?” _

_ “I was digging my own grave,” he wants to scream. _

_ “I’ve never seen you act this way.” _

_ “No offence Emily, but you don’t really know what you’re talking about, do you?” he snaps instead. _

He doesn’t even feel bad.

He does.

_ I do. _

He wants to scream for it all to stop.

The stares. The pain. His pounding head. His thoughts. His-

Instead he excuses himself to the bathroom and uses up the last of what he has left.

-

He told Morgan about the crime scene photos, and he told him to use it, to be a better person.

“A better person,” Spencer echoed.

He wonders if it’s possible as he glares at his friends and pushes them away, as he scares innocent women, as he snaps at Emily, as he lies and sneaks around behind their backs.

As he avoids Tobias’ eyes.

-

He meets a man every so often, when he needs a hit and doesn’t have anything left. That becomes more and more frequent. Spencer meets him in an alley behind a corner store run by an old couple who greet every customer they have with a smile. 

He almost feels bad for doing this so close to them.

The man wears all black; a jumper with the hood up, black jeans, high top converse with the laces wrapped around his ankles like Spencer used to do in high school. He keeps his head down and hides in the shadows.

Spencer wears whatever he wore to work; he just replaces his jacket or cardigan with a black coat that has a hood and reaches his mid-thighs. He too keeps his hood up and head down and slinks into the shadows so deep that he can’t see their hands exchanging money for goods even though it's right in front of him.

He takes it in pill form now. It’s better. The needle, the belt, it reminded him of Tobias.

The pills just make him feel better.

He has to muffle their rattle, but it's a small price to pay. Just like the first edition he sold for extra money is, just like his job will inevitably be.

He doesn’t see that yet.

All he sees is a release from his pain. 

He doesn’t keep a schedule, as much as it pains him. He’s been in the FBI for years and has been studying, reading about crimes for long enough. He knows routines make a perfect target for stalking. And that’s the last thing he needs.

It’s only slightly different but randomly so it wouldn’t, couldn’t, be seen as a pattern.

Every time he stuffs the bottle of pills in his pocket and keeps his head down, he wonders how long he can sustain this.

-

_ “I knew you’d understand.” Spencer’s voice shakes as he nearly cries from relief. Hotch radiates warmth, and he wants to hold on forever.  _

_ He lets go and hugs JJ. He tells her it wasn’t her fault. Morgan nods to him, and Emily watches from further away. He leans on Gideon, who whispers something to him. _

_ He asks for a moment alone, and he gets it. _

_ He reaches for Tobias’ pocket, but a hand stops him. Tobias’ hand. _

This isn’t how it happened.

_ “Tobias?” he whispers. _

_ “Do I look like Tobias?” the man questions back. _

_ No, not the man. The angel. This is Raphael. _

_ “Raphael,” he continues to whisper. He's too weak to speak any louder, and he’s too weak to mask his confusion. _

_ “Did you think it would be that easy to kill an angel?” _

This isn’t how it happened.

_ He can’t speak. He opens his mouth, and no words come out. He screams, pleading his team for help, and they all just stand, frozen in place, watching him. _

_ I knew you’d understand. _

This isn’t how it happened.

_ Raphael drags him back to the shed by his ankles. _

This isn’t how it happened.

_ I knew you’d understand. _

He wakes up screaming.

  
  


-

He should be getting between seven and nine hours of sleep. Between work and his nightmares, he barely gets three on a good night.

He compensates with coffee. 400 milligrams of caffeine is considered safe for most adults. That’s around four cups of coffee. He has more. 

_ It’s okay; most people do. _

Far too many more. With far too much sugar.

_ It’s okay; the drugs will kill me first. _

He doesn’t think about the amount of people in America who have an addiction. He doesn’t think about how many people overdose each year.

_ “We aren’t statistics, Spencer,” his father had said. _

“I am,” Spencer whispers.

-

He gets called on a case, and he wonders if it’s worth it.

If he even wants to go.

-

He ignores Emily’s calls and misses a plane.

_ “I didn’t have any cell phone reception,” he’ll lie later, praying they don’t notice his constricted pupils. _

For now, he stays with the only person who has ever understood him. The only person who could take one look at him and know exactly what was wrong and what he needed.

Even Gideon couldn’t do that.

Spencer didn’t blame him; he couldn’t either. No one could. That’s what made Ethan so special.

Ethan and he may have been rivals, at least at first, but beyond that he was the first friend Spencer ever had. 

And the first person to be more.

Ethan would rub it in if he got a higher grade, but he would do it with a smile, an arm around his shoulder and follow it up with an offer of coffee.

He’d laugh when Spencer did it back.

The drink turns into two, which turns into a tour of the city, which turns into dinner, which turns into a long game of hoping the team hasn’t seen him by the time they make it back to Ethan’s apartment.

“Why are you here?” he asks, setting up the coffee machine. He asks if Spencer wants some. He says yes, desperate to rid his mouth of the dryness that has become so familiar.

It’ll only be his third today. That’s less than usual.

“I told you.” Spencer awkwardly sits on the sofa, watching Ethan out of the corner of his eye. It’s been too long since the last time this happened.

Ethan brings him his cup. “No, you told me why you called. I’m asking why you stayed.”

Spencer stays silent, and Ethan takes it as an opportunity to continue. “You’ve wanted to work for the FBI for as long as I’ve known you. Yet, today, you just… skipped out.”

He doesn’t tell him. 

He spends the night tangled in Ethan’s sheets, wrapped in his arms, just like they did when they were both sixteen and in college far too soon.

“I needed to know if I could… step away from the job,” he finally confides, at four the next morning. It’s still dark, and he’s standing at the living room window soaking in the cool spring breeze.

“Whatever you’re taking isn’t worth it. There are better ways,” Ethan states. He understands what isn’t being said.

“And what if I…” He doesn’t have the words to explain himself. Ethan still understands.

“You need to figure out if staying or leaving is the best thing,” he replies, gently snaking his arms around Spencer’s chest. He sounds like he’s never been so sure of anything in his life. “Only you can figure that out.”

“I don’t want to leave my family,” he whispers.

“Then you know what you’ve gotta do.”

Spencer doesn’t think he can, but he wants to.

-

He calculates it, because that’s what he’s always done. He’s always been good with numbers. So, he calculates it. 

He calculates how much he can lower the dosage by each day until there’s nothing left.

He knows he should do it with help, with medical supervision, with someone,  _ anyone,  _ but it’s not an option unless he wants to lose his job.

He lasted fourteen hours the first time.

Two days and seven hours the second.

This time he’s sure he’s going to do it; he’s been lowering the dosage everyday for six days. 

_"It'd be almost impossible for him to quit without help," he says about their unsub. Almost, he says, because he’s been lowering his dosage everyday for six days alone._

_ He’s trying hard not to be too resentful about it. He knows they can’t say anything, do anything. _

_ He glances at Gideon; he’s not sure why. Maybe he wants him to get the message. Maybe he wants him to help. _

_ Gideon looks away. _

He’s in hell. And Gideon looked away.

Spencer knows it’s not logical, but he swears it’s been the slowest six days of his life.

The last time he felt time pass this slowly he was tied to a goalpost.

_ Almost impossible,  _ he reminds himself, as he reduces the dosage again on the seventh day.

-

_ I can’t do this.  _

He lays awake, staring at the ceiling for the third night in a row.

_ I can’t do this.  _

He’s shaking.

_ I can’t do this. _

His entire body aches, his heart beats fast, his head throbs.

_ I can’t do this. _

During the day, he stares into Morgan’s and silently pleads for his help.

_ I’m going to die. _

It never works. 

_ I can’t die. _

He clamps a hand over his mouth to muffle his echoing sobs.

_ I can’t do this. _

_ I have to. _

-

He keeps lowering his dosages. He keeps working cases. He keeps pretending that he doesn’t know that the team knows.

He works a case for Emily’s mom, and his forearm, just below his elbow, won’t stop itching. 

The skin underneath his shirt is becoming red. He saw JJ’s hand twitch as she resisted the urge to reach out and stop him. He couldn’t button the cuffs of his sleeve; it made it worse.

_ Why is it itching so much? I haven’t used a needle since- _

He only stops to wrap his arms around his cramping stomach.

He is so close. He has three days left. 

_ Three days. That’s all. _

He is working a case for Ambassador Prentiss, and he has three days left before his safety net, his crutch, the one thing that takes the pain away, that makes him forget, is gone completely.

_ Three days. That’s it. _

He throws himself into work, ignoring his beating heart, his shaking hands, his racing thoughts.

_ Three days. _

-

He twists the silver coin between his fingers.

-

There’s three taps on his door as he flips through the research paper on predictions of antibiotic resistance in bacteria. 

Three taps. Short, sharp, made with one knuckle.

Morgan.

He opens the door to his friend, who has a small smile on his lips and holding a coffee in either hand. He holds one out to Spencer, asking, “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Spencer takes the drink and steps aside.

From the doorway, he watches Morgan awkwardly steps towards the living room. He looks around, and Spencer can see that he’s profiling the place, and it’s surprising him. 

He knows the conversation that’s about to come. 

He takes a moment before closing the door and joining Morgan, who had finally sat down when he had turned away.

“There was reception,” Spencer starts, because Morgan doesn’t know how.

“I know,” Morgan whispers, taking a sip of his coffee. “I just don’t know what really happened.”

“You have a theory though.” Spencer snaps. “It’s wrong, but you do.”

“What?”

“I know you all know what I did, and you just sat by and  _ watched, _ ” Spencer yells. He sighs, sinking into the couch. “I know you couldn’t say anything, but I’m still...”

“And you have every right to be. I’m sorry, Reid. We should’ve figured something out.“

“I didn’t go off to get high.” He abruptly changes the subject; he doesn’t know what to say to that. 

He doesn’t mention how that’s exactly what he wants to do now.

Morgan doesn’t reply, waiting for Spencer to elaborate.

“I was with a friend, that part was true,” he said. Morgan didn’t need to know more. He didn’t need to know how they spent that night together. He didn’t need to know that he had taken some pills just before entering the station the next morning in an attempt to stop his hands from shaking.

“I… I needed to know if I could step away from the job.”

_ He said the same to Gideon. _

“Could you?”

_ “And?” _

“Yes. But, I realised, I didn’t want to.”

_ “I’ll never miss another plane again” _

“So, everything’s good?”

“It’s getting there.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that, and thank you for reading ! if you have any feedback for me, please feel free to comment it or message me on tumblr, its heathridgemanor just like here
> 
> if i've gotten any details wrong or they are inaccurate, please don't hesitate to let me know. there is only so much you can get from researching, and the last thing i want to do is hurt anyone with this. so if there's a problem with anything, please let me know so i can edit it
> 
> if you would like to check out my other social medias my tumblr is heathridgemanor, as i said, and my twitter is @reidsthcrne :)


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